


Air Wave Angel

by ddynoliaeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist!Dean, M/M, radio au, radio host!Castiel, radio station
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:30:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddynoliaeth/pseuds/ddynoliaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak runs a quiet little radio show late at night, 'Nocturnals', in the tiny city of Bonford. He's not famous, not by a long shot, but he has a loyal cult following of Night Owls who tune in to his show every night at two am on the dot. And the most die-hard of all his die-hard fans is Dean Winchester, one of the many budding artistic talents in the city. Dean has only ever heard the Air Wave Angel's voice on his junkyard radio, but it's enough to have him falling hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Air Wave Angel

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this please consider commissioning me to write some fic for you!  
> http://vincenoir.tumblr.com/post/161648060242/hey-so-im-severely-strapped-for-cash-at-the

_"Welcome to **Nocturnals** all you Night Owls. This is the Air Wave Angel, Castiel, sending the best tunes in my library your way. First up tonight we have a little known gem - this is 'Armies Against Me' by Epicure, a great little band from regional Australia. Enjoy."_

As the first few chords of the song wafted from his rusted-over radio, Dean Winchester smiled. The music echoed through the crummy open-plan apartment, bounding off the unfinished canvases on easels and leaning against the wall, and the finished ones stacked in apple crates. He sat, crossed legged on the couch with a small sketchbook open on his lap, doodling on the page as the two am breeze wafted in through the open window. 

Dean loved the hour between two and three in the morning - it was his favourite time. He generally slept from six to one, then woke up and worked on his current project until  _Nocturnals_ started at two. From there, his routine involved zoning out on the couch, drinking a stupid amount of coffee, and doodling in his sketchbook his imagined versions of the face behind the beautiful voice on the radio.

_"That was Epicure. Wonderful little band, wasn't it?"_

Dean visibly perked up from his calm reclining as he heard the Air Wave Angel's deep voice crowding the flat. He started another sketch, a wide, open face, cheerful and smiling out at the viewer. It wasn't his best work, but his _Nocturnals_ sketches weren't for the public eye. They were for himself and himself only. Not even his brother knew about the burgeoning crush he had on the man behind the voice. And he had no clue what the bloke even looked like.

_"And don't you forget, Night Owls, that the Air Wave Angel is always open for call-ins. We have one caller right now - Gabriel from lower east Bonford. Talk to me, Gabe."_

_"Hey, Castiel, long time first time. I'm calling in to let you know that Michael wants you to call-"_

_"I warned you about calling here, Gabe."_

_"Yeah, but the asshole's having a pissy fit and you've gotta shut him up."_

_"Oh, sorry Gabe, I think you're breaking up."_

The caller was cut off the line, leaving Dean and (almost definitely) many other regular listeners wondering what the hell had just happened. Dean's pencil lay forgotten in his lap as his head rolled to the side.

_"Apologies for that, Night Owls. Gabriel is this host's brother - but that's not important right now as we have another caller. Go ahead, Sam from upper B."_

 No. No, no, no. Dean calmly placed his sketchpad and pencil on the couch beside him and stood up, walking across the open space to the radio sitting on the bookcase across the room. Inside, his stomach twisted. If this was who he thought it was, he'd have to have some very stern words tomorrow at their monthly lunch at Café Bean.

_"Yeah, hi, um..."_

Jesus. Christ.

_"I was wondering if you could play 'You've Got the Love' by Florence and the Machine?"_

_"I certainly can, Sam. Is there a special somebody you'd like me to dedicate this song to?"_

_"Yeah, his, uh, his name is... G?"_

* * *

 

"Sammy."

 The single word was heavy, burdened in the air between the brothers as they sat down in the quiet little café. Sam, the tall, long-haired man sitting across from the surly Dean, looked sheepishly up from under his lashes. Café Bean was a tiny little affair, cosy and personal, and Dean's fabourite midday haunt. They'd ordered their usual meals - an avocado focaccia for Sam, and a lovely meat pie for Dean - in silence, and only after the teenaged, bespectacled waitress had left to get their respective lattes had Dean said the first word to Sam.

"Yeah, Dean? What's up?" Sammy seemed so comfortable, if a little confused about Dean's aggressive atmosphere. 

"You wanna tell me who the mysterious 'G' is?"

That brought Sam to attention. He sat up straight in his seat, laying his hands awkwardly down on the table and glancing around the room to check that none of the other patrons were listening in. As expected, none of them gave a fuck, but he leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner.

"How the hell do you know about that?"

"Jesus, Sammy, when you announce it on public radio like that-"

"I didn't know you listened to _Nocturnals_." Sam started, giving Dean an incredulous look. His attempt at misdirection was too weak even to distract Dean, however, and he just shook his head and continued to grill his brother.

"Look, man, I have no problem with you being, you know, gay, but I wish I'd found out by having you tell me, and not through the goddamn radio."

"Dean, I'm not-"

The waitress returned, placing the coffees and their food on the table before them. Dean pointedly dived directly into the pie, shoveling forkfuls into his gullet while still staring at Sam for a proper, truthful answer. The long-haired behemoth just sighed, taking a bite of his meal and resigning to his fate.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't want to tell you yet. He and I, we're not exactly official yet."

"And yet you're requesting songs to dedicate to him at two thirty in the morning?"

"Shove it, Dean."

The smaller brother laughed, easing the tension, and the rest of the meal passed with benign chatter and Sam departed with a promise to introduce Dean to the elusive G sometime soon. As the door closed after Sam, Dean reached down to the bag underneath his chair, filled with his supplies, and dug about until he picked out his favourite daytime sketchbook. The leather was fading, and the pages were well-worn and yellowing from the bad moisture protection in his apartment. His best pencil in hand, Dean set about sketching the other customers in the café. His eyes were drawn specifically to one man, sitting alone at a booth in the corner, tapping away on a laptop. The man had dark hair, a furrowed brow, and sharp blue eyes. Wrapped in a tan trench coat, the man was secluded and comfortable with it. And that was exactly Dean's type, not that he'd tell anyone on this planet. He'd die before admitting that a pair of curvy, soft breasts didn't do it for him nearly as much as a firm, powerful, _flat_ chest.

As Dean was putting the finishing touches on the sketch of the writing man with the blue eyes, he glanced up for one last peek at his current muse. The man had, in the ten minutes Dean was enraptured with recreating his image on the paper before him, gotten up from his space and disappeared from the booth. Looking around to find him - and not even he could say exactly _why_ he felt he should find him - Dean frowned, until he glanced in the direction of the chair opposite him. A rough hand gripped the chair back, wrist hidden by the sleeve of a tan coat, and attached, ultimately, to a rather uncomfortable looking blue-eyed man.

"Hello. My name is Castiel. I saw you from across the room - I was wondering if I could see what you're drawing?"

Dean's heart almost stopped as he finally found a face to put to the voice of the Air Wave Angel. And, God, none of his imagined sketches had done him any justice at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is both my first AU and my first chaptered fic. I have a lot of plans for this, and I hope you guys enjoy it. I don't think I need to mention how much I'd appreciate any feedback.


End file.
